A day at the Bakery
by Jaclyn840
Summary: Katniss spends a lazy afternoon at Peeta's Bakery. Post-Mockingjay, Pre-epilogue. Canon/One-shot. *Update* Katniss brings Peeta out to the woods on a day in deep winter.
1. A day at the Bakery

The cackling of geese rouses me from my sleep. Usually, I can tell by the pitch of their honks if Haymitch has thrown them corn or drunkenly flung a handful of dirt from a flowerpot instead. The cheerful quacks of fowl feeding and the gentlest wisps of dew in the air hint to me that today is going to be a good day after all.

I shower and dress for hunting, heading downstairs to find a still-warm loaf of bread and bacon on the table. After the war, we stopped getting bacon rations from District 10 which were whole slabs of bacon from which I could cut thick slices to make a substantial breakfast. Now we get our bacon from District 13 instead - paper thin slices shrink-wrapped in clear plastic. I cook bacon for my breakfast and leave a slice in Buttercup's feeding dish before leaving for a morning of hunting.

Dawn breaks as I step out into the cool autumn breeze. The lights are on in Haymitch's house, a rarity. Peeta's house is dark as usual, he heads out to the rebuilt Bakery before sunrise. Whatever burnt out shacks in the Seam have been paved over and replaced with concrete terraced units; identical, uniform, lined up in perfectly straight rows. In place of the Hob there is a large white hall where one could get a stall for some paperwork and a fee. Those few miners who have returned have begun going back to work after the mines reopened. The smell of smoke fills the air as Capitol Machinery continue to rebuild the District. As I pass into the meadow, it amazes me how everything can be so similar, yet different at the same time; The look of despair mixed with hope, the smell of ashes and death mixed with the scent of morning dew.

The traps I laid out yesterday do a decent job in hauling in rabbits and before long I've managed to shoot four Grooslings. I spend the rest of the morning picking blueberries from a bush hidden by the cement cabin, thinking about how we have swapped oppression for destruction and then now, something else entirely. As I ponder about what to do for the rest of the day, a butterfly lands on a clump of Primroses.

_Some things never change. _

I allow myself to get lost in my thoughts about the future. At this point in a typical day of hunting, I usually would have Gale to talk to, to argue with, for him to rant about the Capitol - but today it's just me, watching the sun peek from the clouds, before being swathed by darkness again. By the time the sun is almost all the way up in the sky, I begin to realize how lonely I am, and hungry. My thoughts drift to Peeta as I walk back, about how he was coping with running a Bakery, whether it was helping him heal, or just provided another place for him to hide the dark recesses of his mind in.

Greasy Sae runs a stall at the Hall now, which explains her prolonged absence from my house. I trade her rabbits and groosling for some canned food while noticing that she has begun selling bread with her soup.

"Where'd you get that from?"

"Oh, don't you know? Peeta has been selling bread for a while now. Taken up where his Father left off as if nothing really happened. Once they rebuilt the Bakery he knew he had to get back."

"I would have thought he didn't want to remember"

"Some people never change, you should pay him a visit"

_I could use some company_, I thought. The prospect of being alone, wrapped in my thoughts for the rest of the day is too much to bear. I wander off, looking at the other stalls before heading out into the meadow. The bakery looks almost exactly the same as before, same pig pen but without pigs, concrete steps in place of wooden ones, same smell of bread wafting from the door. If I close my eyes I can even feel the rain, the gnawing hunger in my tummy, and the feeling of salvation from the midst of my hopelessness during that fateful moment years ago.

_You never forget the moments that change your life. _

There aren't any more cakes in the window, just empty baskets with breadcrumbs in them. The oven is flickering, but Peeta is nowhere to be seen. I hesitate on the doorknob, but the warm inviting smell of bread changes my mind. As the door creaks open, I hear a voice from the kitchen.

"Hey, come in, just give me a minute!"

I could recognize that voice anywhere. Peeta comes out, mouth slightly open in an expression of disbelief at my sudden intrusion into his enclave - bow in hand with a quiver full of bristling arrows. No doubt I must look ferocious to him; a female bandit seeking to rob an honest bakery. He looks at the matted blood on my pants from skinning rabbits and asks,

"You here to finish me off sweetheart?"

I look down and chuckle while putting down my weapons. The look of alarm on his face gives way to relief, then happiness, as he sets out a cup of peppermint tea and cookies on the counter. I try to give off my best smile as I sit by the counter, but as my reflection in the window pane looks back at me, I realize that a morning of hunting has left me looking less than desirable: disheveled hair, grey marks on my face from walking around in the smoke too much, and a slight scratch on my face from a tree branch which got a little too close for comfort. Peeta looks better than me, but only just: perspiration-lined brows with flour caked on his cheek and arms, everywhere on his clothes the stains of coal and flour linger. For a moment we sit and stare at the door while I munch on a cookie. I try to think of something, just anything to say make my visit worthwhile

"Have you eaten?"

"No, I was too busy to eat. Mining crews have begun ordering bread for lunches again"

"I was hoping we could have a meal together", I reply, producing a can of vegetable soup from my bag.

"Excellent!"

I open the tinned soup and pour it into a bowl by the fire to warm up. Peeta produces a half-used loaf of rye bread from the display counter and begins to slice it.

"I keep this loaf of bread for hungry children who come by so they won't leave hungry. You look like a hungry child to me today."

"Not as hungry as that day"

"Would you like yours toasted?"

He hands me a pair of tongs and we begin lightly toasting our bread. As we stand by the oven in silence punctuated by the crackle of the wood-oven, the door creaks open. I can immediately tell by the smell that it's Haymitch.

"Well, well, well. Looks like you two have already moved on to toasting bread. Things are going a little fast aren't they?"

We giggle like a pair of school lovebirds caught kissing. Haymitch doesn't seem to be in a talking mood today, as he picks up a loaf of wholegrain and leaves without saying anything else. Maybe he just wants to leave us alone. We nibble on toast dipped in soup while customers come and go, picking up bread and tarts for lunch. They all have the same intrigued look on their faces, as though it's odd that we would be together, even after all this. Then it hits me, I haven't been seen in public with him since the war was over.

I sip on my lukewarm tea as the stream of lunchtime customers dry up. He talks to me about the people who have survived and returned, and I tell him about the new places in town that have replaced the old ones. Eventually our conversation drifts to Haymitch, Effie, the surviving stylists, and then silence.

_There's really only so much we can talk about until one of us breaks down crying from the memories. _

I swirl the remaining tea in my cup. The company is refreshing for once, and it would pain my heart greatly for him to send me away. I rack my brains, thinking of something to prolong my short stay.

"Would you...like some help around here?"

He smiles, a genuine expression gleaming with happiness in his eyes. A moment later he reappears from the kitchen with a large basin of dough.

"I was going to start on this before you showed up", he says, setting the basin on the table. It's risen, brimming around the edges and smelling of yeast. He divides the basin into two and begins to knead the air out of his portion. The dough responds almost instinctively to his skilled arms, rippling with life as he folds it over and over again. On my side however, the dough has stuck to my fingers and my hands resemble a load of muck.

"Peeta, I can't move my fingers."

He chuckles at me before dipping his hands into some flour and rubbing it into my hands. I try suppressing my smile, a beaming wide smile that leaps from my heart onto my face, while he holds my hands and coats them with flour. I rub the little nuggets of flour off my hands, without noticing that he has been looking at me.

"You're blushing."

"Oh stop it, would you..."

"I'm sorry, Katniss"

"Don't be"

In less than ten minutes he's done with his pile of dough, while I've only begun to move it. I'm nowhere as skilled as him, and most of the time I look like I'm strangling the dough rather than kneading it.

"Katniss you have to love the dough, it isn't trying to kill you", he says, and with that he stands behind me and shows me how to knead. The familiar feeling of comfort creeps up again as I feel his body pressed against mine. For a moment I lose my train of thought as my fingers are lost in the feeling of him squeezing the dough through them. I pretend to know what he's doing, just enjoying the semi-embrace that he's giving me, but before long I figure out the right touch that makes it behave the way I want it to. He senses that his newest student has got it right, and begins to slip away from behind me. Almost instinctively I hold onto his wrist.

"Don't go"

I can almost feel the smile glowing from his body as he resumes his position behind me, this time with his fingers gently stroking the tops of my knuckles as I knead. He smells good, despite being in a bakery all day, and I can feel his breath swirling across the front of my body. As I slow down my kneading his hands wander along the insides of my forearm, leaving wispy trails of flour from the wrists to the elbows. My lips part slightly in pleasure as he edges closer to my body, and I can feel his chin come to a rest on my shoulders as he watches his latest apprentice work. Before long, he holds me by the hips and whispers into my ears.

"Katniss, I think you've kneaded the dough enough"

"Guessed so, I just don't want this moment to go away"

"It doesn't have to"

The gentlest pecks of his lips on my ears leave an irrevocable tingling sensation along my spine. As I stand there in stunned silence he slips his lips down along the side of my neck. I try to contain my breathing but my heart begins to race. He knows, surely he knows. He knows how my body reacts when he does things like that. The cave, the beach during the Quell, even frightful nights on the train. Just that this time we aren't running from anything; we aren't pretending to be something we're not, neither faced with imminent pain nor death nor starvation. Just two very lonely souls seeking the comfort of each other's touch in a quiet bakery.

He tucks a braid of hair across my shoulder and kisses the nape of my neck, evoking a sigh of pleasure from my lips. The brevity of his kiss is too much to bear, and I hold his head against my neck, leaving bits of dough and flour in his hair. He responds by kissing the edge of my jaw, then my neck, leading down to my collarbone, before repeating this little trail of kisses. He is very close now, his hips pressed up against mine, in turn pressed up against the counter-top. He slowly moves his hands up along the inside of my hunting jacket, starting with my waist, then along the lines of my ribs, before...

I let out an enormous sigh of pleasure as he runs the tips of his fingers ever so delicately over the curves of my breasts. He is whispering something in my ears, something about how the beautiful blanket of autumn leaves in the meadow reminded him of me; but all I am thinking about his how hard my heart is pounding and how close I am to being rendered unconscious by pleasure. The itch of being held from behind; of seeing everything but him, is too much, and I turn my head for a kiss, swiveling myself such that he catches me in an embrace.

We kiss deeply, a long fulfilling kiss that empties the air from my lungs in satisfaction as we part. As I open my eyes, I see the spark of desire glimmer in his eyes, and we kiss again. This time, deeper, more fervent; the passion of our kiss lending fury to our embrace as we hold each other's heads in. His hands find their way to my breasts once again, though this time it's more than just deft, gentle stroking. Rather, he has held me with a firm yet soothing touch and the feeling of desire rushing through my body mixed with shock at his boldness pries my jaw apart in pleasure. A loud moan sure to cause alarm to the neighbors escapes my lips, as he caresses my breasts. I fumble with my jacket and he takes it off, while he clumsily undoes his apron. We kiss again, holding each other's heads in union, as I feel him pull one of my knees up to his sides. He moves closer now, edging his knee along my thigh. The movement elicits sighs of pleasure growing in intensity as he moves it closer and closer. Finally, with a sharp tug at my hips, he presses his knee up against me. The euphoric bliss of such a poignant and potent feeling jolts through my body as I cry out his name in pleasure. We kiss again, this time it is I who pulls him in, the sensation being too little to satisfy the curious feelings that Peeta has stirred up within me. He holds me by the hips and edges me up against the counter, bucking his knee against me. Slowly and eventually we find our rhythm as our eyes meet, filled with desire so long suppressed.

The feeling of pleasure begins to pool around my hips as I exhort him wordlessly with sighs and moans. I cling onto his neck as I brim over into a climax; powerful, yet gentle - like the waves of the tide crashing down onto the beach and simmering off into the foamy surf. We share a kiss, as the tides of pleasure wash over me and he embraces my body, still shivering from its post-orgasmic bliss.

"You two look so cute together!"

I spin around in shock to see Greasy Sae laying out coins for bread. In our moment of intimacy we hadn't even heard the door creak open. Who knows how much she has seen? Peeta blushes a deep red as he hands her three loaves of bread.

"Don't worry sweethearts, everything is going to be just fine"

My embarrassment fades as Peeta holds me by the shoulders, and we bid her farewell.

_Yes, everything will be just fine. _

We share one more kiss as sunset bathes the bakery in a deep orange.


	2. A day in the Woods

_The splash of cold sparkling water refreshes my parched lips as I dip my face into the lake. Sunlight glimmers off the surface of the water, reflecting the shimmering Cornucopia lying in the distance. The lapping of my tongue sends ripples through the water as I drink ravenously. This doesn't feel right, I see only the warped image of a dark face with dark eyes looking back at me. As the ripples in the water begin to fade and I start to see my reflection more clearly, the face turns out completely covered in black fur set with a pair of gleaming grey eyes. What's this? I'm looking at a...Muttation. _

_I try to scream, but only growls come. Then comes the scratching; furious, vain attempts to tear off my own fur. The fury at my supposed transformation into a Mutt sends me into a ferocious rage, and in the midst of all the trashing..._

I punch myself awake into a trembling, heaving mess. The bedroom is a frigid cold from when I must have kicked my blankets to the floor during all my tossing about. As I clutch onto the nearest object (a pillow this time) in my usual post-nightmare routine of sobbing uncontrollably, I notice that dawn has just broke and the lightest flakes of snow have begun to settle on my windowsill. I sit up to be greeted by the sight of freshly-fallen snow dyed violet by the impending sunrise. Amidst the haze of my awakening I remember my mother's remedy for pain, and dab a pinch of snow onto the spot on my cheek where I punched myself; wincing slightly as it cools my heated pain into a soft relief. The fog that lingers after every breath I take reminds me how cold it is, and before long I am huddled up under a blanket again. However, the haze of my sleepiness together with the lingering pain of on my cheek has started a mild headache, and I venture into the shower in an attempt to rinse it out of my skull. I notice the earliest signs of a bruise festering upon a closer inspection of my face in the bathroom mirror.

_Oh well, not the worst I have endured. _

There is movement in the kitchen, and as I hobble down the cold stairs of my house dressed in a towel I see not Greasy Sae, but Peeta in the kitchen. He smiles at me but doesn't say anything, only setting out some breakfast in front of me: a cup of coffee with bacon and jam on toasted whole wheat bread. Buttercup curls up on the chair next to me while I feed him bits of torn off toast. Peeta sits next to me, and when I take away my palm which I had clamped onto my bruised-in cheek, he takes notice.

"Rough night huh?"

I nod slowly, trying to keep away both the memories of my still-fresh nightmares and tears from forming in my eyes. I try to distract myself by looking at my empty plate, then at the table, and finally, resting my gaze upon his hands. Along with the scars I've given him from the vase at the 74th Hunger Games and my teeth at Snow's execution, I see some fresh ones lining his knuckles. I run my fingers along them, resisting the urge to ask. But for a moment in the silence, a deep connection forms between us - all our struggles from the trauma and deep-rooted memories are shared. I give in to my emotions, allowing a tear to roll down my cheek, and as I begin to snivel, he takes my hand into his. We sit there quietly listening to my sobs, staring at each other's hands and wordlessly bridging our feelings until he breaks the silence.

"It's snowing today"

"It must have snowed a foot in last night, everything is covered in snow. It's beautiful."

He hesitates on his next words, before looking into my eyes.

"Like you"

I look away, letting go of his hand to wipe the tears from my face, trying not to smile or blush.

"You aren't going to the bakery today?"

"The District is laying out pipes through the houses and paving the roads. They told the whole row to close for the week. I left out some bread and a collection tin"

"What're you going to do for the rest of the day?"

"Oh, I don't know, shovel some snow I guess"

I need to get out, to slip away into the blanket of snow that makes everything new. Even if it is just for half a day. But what about Peeta? Do I leave him here in the silence with only remnants of his memory for company? Before I can even hold my words in, they slip from my tongue

"You could come with me to the woods"

What was I thinking? Peeta in the woods? No other place save for a Prison cell could inspire as many potentially deadly memories to resurface within him. He would be a terrible hunting partner in the woods anyway. No amount of snow could insulate the deafening crunches his feet make. He edges his chair back an inch, looks at the floor and accepts my invitation with just the slightest hints of fear and trepidation in his voice. I dress slowly, taking my time to lace up hunting boots and picking out a grey cloak that should melt into the winter foliage before heading out. The cold air bites hard into my cheek and the realization of how deep we are in winter sets in. I don't even have to squint into the distance to know where the tracks from Haymitch's house lead to; the trains are due to come in today. Peeta ducks into his house to put on a brown coat and take a shovel.

Sure enough, the hole in the fence is snowed in. Haymitch walks by; shoulders weighed down with bags of clinking bottles, and encounters us half-digging, half-clawing our way past the fence. He makes a joke about us still trying to escape the district and tells us not to get lost just as we make it through to the other side. The hike up to the concrete cabin takes longer as usual. Peeta tries to help wherever he can: holding my hand to climb narrow ridges I could easily leap over, shoveling dirt across frozen streams so that I wouldn't slip. Despite his efforts, I can still see the same fear in his eyes from the Hunger Games. Even with the snow keeping the larger beasts at bay, this place will always feel foreign and dangerous to him. I get lost in my thoughts thinking about how he would fare in the woods during spring when he says,

"We've reached the lake"

The cabin's been snowed in, so I leave him to shovel the snow while I slink away to look for what little wildlife mad enough to scamper around in this weather. The snow makes for excellent hunting feet – soundless, hushed away by the sound of whispering wind – but there are no animals to be found. In the corner of my eye I see a deer, but in my foolish attempts to stalk, I realize that I've been following nothing but a branch from multiple angles. After what must be an hour of skulking around, I stumble upon an injured groosling by sheer chance, flopping around on a bed of snow with a broken wing. I put it out of its misery and tie it to my quiver. The rest of my trudging around in the frosted wilderness proves unfruitful, and by the time the sun has passed midday I head back to the cabin. The rumbling in my stomach has started to add to the short list of sounds I can hear in the wintry air.

I must have been gone for at least a few hours, as not only has the snow been completely cleared away, but there is smoke rising from the chimney as well. I enter the cabin, half-expecting to be greeted by the cold hollowness of a room left empty for too long. Instead, the warm air wraps around my body like the hug of an old friend welcoming me into their home. Peeta smiles at me, proud of all the work he has done in tidying up the place: starting a fire, sweeping away the leaves and assorted debris, even putting up flowers by the window sill.

I take off my cloak and sit by the fire, preparing my wounded little animal friend for lunch while Peeta warms up a loaf of rye bread he somehow smuggled in his coat. We divide the bird into two, skewering it onto stripped off branches of pine and roasting them over the open flame. As the grease drips off the groosling making crackling sounds over the fire, I think about how Gale and I could never have done anything productive to the abandoned cabin. We just don't have the talent Peeta does for making things homely and inviting. We shred our meat into a little pile by the fireplace and Peeta slices some bread to make a groosling sandwich for both of us. It's a simple but delicious meal; the greasy meat making an excellent accompaniment to the dry crusty bread. After we're done eating, we feed each other some half-frozen blueberries that he had picked by the lake.

"I've never had such a delicious meal out here before. Thank you for everything"

"You never have lunch with Gale while hunting?"

"Not really, we usually eat scraps, most of our game we have to sell at the Hob or to the Peacekeepers"

"This place must hold some pretty deep memories for you"

It all starts comes back: Gale, his rage against the Capitol, the Kissing, Prim.

"Sometimes I don't want to remember. That's why I wanted to go out today, the snow makes everything new. It covers the earth beneath it, no matter how ugly it is"

"It's still there you know"

I look into his eyes, the fearful look gone, now replaced with eyes of comfort and love. He puts his arm around my shoulder and continues,

"But I'm always here for you"

I edge up against him and put my head on his chest as we toss groosling bones into the fire. The comfort from having food in my belly, warmth air wrapped around my body and the familiar feeling of his arms around my shoulder begins to start something else within my body. This warm feeling that stirs up within me in the comfort of my bed at night when I'm not dreaming about muttations or people killing each other. The warm feeling that's led me to touch myself quietly even in the cold nights with Prim sleeping by my side. A warm and wet sensation flickering against my fingers snaps me out of my thoughts. Peeta takes my fingers between his lips and begins to lick the melted blueberry juice from them. I blush intensely, as he alternates kissing and licking my fingers. My heart begins to race from the excitement building up inside me. Soon he kisses my upturned hand, then the insides of my palm, looking at my eyes for a reaction. I give him none – only showing that my breathing has become heavier and my pulse has quickened.

As he runs his lips along my wrist I give in to the warm curious feelings of desire that he has awoken inside me; and I turn to pull him into a kiss. He holds my face in his hands as we kiss, and as we separate, I see reflected in his deep blue eyes my own grey ones, filled with anger and desire – the very emotions that fire represent. This time he pulls me into another kiss, his light touches doing no justice to the fire that he has stirred up within me, and I push him down onto the floor of the cabin in a fit of desire. I straddle him, lining up his hips between my legs before pressing another ferocious kiss onto his lips. He's holding me by the arms now, tightly, too tightly even, and he begins to shake.

When we part I see him panting heavily, eyes laced with confusion

"Peeta are you alright?"

"For a moment there I thought you were going to chew my face off"

I smile, knowing well to pace myself since he is completely capable of involuntarily misinterpreting my actions of lust for movements of violence. He clings onto my head and brings it over his shoulder, placing kisses along my neck. We embrace, necking in the warm silence punctuated only by the crackling of the fire and the little voices of pleasure that have begun to escape our lips. I take off my hunting jacket and push him up against the wall, kissing him softly and trying not to make any sudden movements. However, the sheer amount of lust stirred up within me is making this a difficult task, especially now that he has hitched my shirt up over my head and has begun lining my collarbone and ribs with the lightest of kisses. I growl in furious anticipation and paw off his shirt, returning the favor with kisses along his body, lips lingering over every scar. He pauses his kisses, and looks at me

"Katniss, there's no one in the woods right?"

I shake my head, remembering Bonnie and Twill, and trying not to think about how they're probably dead. I press my lips to his cheek as he runs his fingers along my neck and spine before pausing to unclasp my undergarments. The moment my breasts are freed, they're immediately held captive again by his hands and kisses, and I yelp at the sudden rush of pleasure that has begun to course through my body. He stops, holds me by my hips and stands up, lifting me clean off the floor to deposit me onto an old creaky chair. Now his fingers turn to work on my boots and pants: slow, agonizing untying and unbuckling of footwear and clothing. My unwilling patience is rewarded by a kiss as he tugs the last undergarment off my hips and past my ankles.

Suddenly, I am feeling very naked and vulnerable, especially with him kneeling between my legs. The words begin to form on my lips: asking him to stop, whether we shouldn't go so quickly. But I don't say anything, and neither does he. My silence is rewarded by the feeling of his kisses again, this time on my ankles trailing up along my calves. Slow, agonizing kisses that take an eternity to reach my thighs. By the time he has pressed his lips along my knees I am gripping onto the chair in vivid anticipation at what is going to happen next. He slows the speed of his kisses as he gets closer and closer between my legs, before finally sealing his lips over mine.

I let out a loud moan, causing an echo in the woods unmistakably pleasurable in its frequency and volume. My legs develop a mind of their own and cross themselves around his head as he gives me what I've been wanting. The lust that has built up within my body is being fulfilled, yes, but he is far too slow, teasing me, withdrawing himself just every time a little ball of pleasure has built up. I pant furiously, my hands switching between gripping the chair for balance and rummaging through his wavy blonde hair, exhorting him to quicken his pace as I feel the inevitable coming. My moans give way to squeamish pants of ecstasy as the familiar feeling begins to pool around my hips. I try to hold on to delay it, but he probably knows that I am close to an impending climax, and has quickened the pace of his ministrations to match the level of my arousal. Finally, with a loud scream of joy I shudder uncontrollably as waves of pleasure cascade across my body in an earth-shattering climax.

He looks at my convulsing, panting mess of a body from between my legs. This must be what it's like to be completely vulnerable to someone, to be seen both in your moments of extreme ecstasy and sorrow. I pull him up towards me for another kiss, the taste of my own arousal still prominent on his lips. As I ease myself off the chair he sits down without asking, and I begin the process of undressing him. There is less patience in my actions, and I am quicker than him, having done it before. As I take off the past piece of clothing that separates his naked body from mine, it pleases me greatly to see that he is ready for me. He was ready the whole time. I am impatient, no kissing along the legs or any of the agonizingly slow caresses, just my lips against him, and immediately, I begin to fulfil his desires. He sits there whimpering quietly, holding my head against him and guiding the pace of my movements. Before long, however, I feel the gnawing hunger of my desire pulsating around my hips.

"Katniss…Katniss…I…"

"You what?" I reply, standing up and straddling him across his hips. The chair bends a little under our combined weight.

"I want you"

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and we kiss while letting our most intimate parts graze against one another. The magnetic sensation of our desires begin to take hold, and without any interference from either of our hands, he slips into me. The immediate pain of him going into me causes me to cry out as it gives way to an immense rush of ecstasy. He leads me in our lovemaking, holding onto my hips and shifting me up and down in an almost telepathic way of knowing what feels good. Then again, anything would feel good at this point – his lips on my breasts, hands on my hips, him being inside me. We gravitate towards a rhythm that we're both comfortable with. As I look into his eyes while we make love, I imagine myself on the beach again. Our innocence and cluelessness. Compared to after the rebellion, our minds were in state of absolute bliss. No war to fight outside of the arena. No flashbacks from Tracker Jacker venom. Just two bodies begging to be released from their desires. If Finnick hadn't woken up, who knew what we would've gotten into in front of the cameras?

The thoughts of sex while being lost in Peeta's deep blue eyes remind me of the pleasure that has again begun to build up inside my body. I buck my hips against him furiously, this time it is I who leads him. He holds my hips and attempts to slow me down, but it is of no use. As I go faster and faster the chair begins to creak louder and louder, and before he can stop us it shatters – sending us tumbling to the floor. We giggle uncontrollably, mostly at the fact that he somehow managed to remain inside me. Unfortunately, our desire has now reached the point of no return, and almost immediately we resume making love. Very soon, I can tell by the movement of his hips that he is close.

"Katniss…I'm going to…"

I place a finger on his lips

"Me too"

"Together?"

"Together"

The climax is intense, too intense even – as poignant and sharp as the frost across my cheek on the first day of winter. My mind turns to static for a brief second while I collapse my face onto his chest; heaving up and down in his post-climactic hyperventilation. When I come to, I see my tears have mingled with the perspiration on his body. I had climaxed in such an intense fashion that it brought tears to my eyes. As I get off him and lay in his arms, head on his chest, I begin to snivel, and he holds my naked body close to his. The post-coital bliss is incredible, so much comfort and subdued pleasure that when sleep comes to my eyes, I don't fight it.

I awaken with a start, clutching the cloak that he had draped around my body. I look out the door, half-expecting the sun to have set over the hills. He's dressed already, and has laid out my clothes by my side.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Just a few minutes"

"It felt like hours"

"We probably should get going before it gets dark"

Then I remember, just the thought of being in the woods at night must be absolutely terrifying for him; even if I'm around. I get dressed and we head back to the meadow. But right as we approach the fence, he motions for me to turn around.

"Katniss, look!"

The most amazing sunset graces the clear blue sky shaded a brilliant orange. We sit down on the snowy slopes and lean against the fence, my head resting on his shoulder as we take in the view.

"Thank you Peeta. Thank you for everything today"

He smiles at me and we kiss deeply as the moonlight illuminates our bodies in the glow of twilight.


End file.
